


stay sick; don't get well

by MadokaFan1234



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (haha sickly), Hurt Stephen Strange, Just overall Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Whump, i can't believe I finally finished something, i just wanted to write something cute yall, i like hurting my faves, my arrogant boi, sickly sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadokaFan1234/pseuds/MadokaFan1234
Summary: After a particularly long two weeks of constant battling, a battered, bruised, feverish Stephen walks into a lonely diner at midnight where the only people inside are him, a faceless waiter, and an understandably worried Tony Stark.





	stay sick; don't get well

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys I finally wrote something for the first time in months. It's short, but I just wanted to post something to prove that I'm not dead.

The tips of Strange's shoes were soaked by the deep puddles that dotted the streets as he limped through the heavy rain. 

It was only hours after his most recent battle, and he wasn't in any shape to be outside. He had been fighting off a particularly nasty head cold for about a week now. Symptoms had popped up from out of left field, but despite Wong's concerns, he trudged into battle like usual. Right now, he was shivering in his long coat while simultaneously maintaining a high fever, but he just wanted something to eat.

He wasn't particularly hungry, but he was definitely tired. He'd just gotten finished fighting what seemed like a thousand eldritch inter dimensional creatures at the same time. Maybe some good soup could help nourish his soul. 

However, his soul threatened to leave his body multiple times throughout his small journey. Maybe it was a mix of viruses and curses, or maybe he had been awake for too long, but he found himself in a constant battle between himself and his own consciousness. It threatened to exit his own body, leaving himself in a disheveled and disconnected state in public. 

The city around him seemed to blend into a single, blurry image was he walked by. One minute he was under the sky, tainted by the drizzling rain. The next, he was entering a late-night diner with (luckily) not much business at the moment. 

"Good evening sir," the waiter said upon his arrival. "Table for one?"

Strange lazily lifted his head when suddenly he was met with a man with no face. Oh, everything else about him was normal; just a man in his twenties wearing a crimson red vest holding a menu in his arms. He just didn't have a face. 

He didn't have time to ponder the detail, however, as once he blinked, he was sitting at an empty table with a menu in his quivering hands.

"W-What...?" He muttered upon the shift in scenery. It was a small blackout, but it was noticeable. Whether his soul actually ascended for a few seconds, or he was just tired, it was surreal. 

And it would only get weirder. His vision danced around the diner some more, the walls swirled from their distinctly bright colors into one mess of fused dark violets. The legs of the chairs around him began to look like actual legs, each of them holding up a small, pool-like ring. A shaky hand met his sweaty forehead, trying to keep his sanity in check. 

The only thing that snapped him out of his feverish state was a voice.

"Sheesh," A sharp voice caught Strange's attention, bringing him away from his delusions. "You alright, Strange? You look like hell."

Strange looked up, and was suddenly met with the face of Tony Stark. He briefly held his hand up, wondering if he, too, was a mirage. When Tony's face twisted in confusion, his hand recoiled with truth. Well, if it had to be anyone, it might as well be him. 

He considered standing up to talk, but his brittle stature shot down that thought instantly.

"Every....Every moment with you is hell," he quipped back with a shaky breath. He motioned for Tony to sit down, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that he had already made himself comfortable. "Wh-Why are you here? It's nearly midnight..."

"I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I?" With a smirk, Tony reached over to snatch the menu from his hands. Strange didn't notice it at all. He was too caught up in his trance to realize. 

The next few minutes consist of him trying to stay associated with reality while trying to listen to Tony rant about whatever shit happened at the Avengers headquarters or something. He sees his lips move, but all he hears is some garbled, mumbled eldritch language that maybe once was English. He picks up a few mentions of "Thor", "socks", and "torn-up cushions", but either Tony's learned some weird-ass Latin during their time apart, or his mind was playing tricks on him again.

His eyes linger on Tony's lips for sometime. He doesn't deny himself blushing briefly while caught in a slightly lovestruck haze. He couldn't tell if it was the fever making his face heat up, but it was better than almost bleeding out in a parallel dimension.

"Anything for the night, fellas?" was the only thing Strange could make out of his and Tony's "conversation". It took him a second to realize the same (still faceless) waiter had come to take their order.

Tony's order was still muffled through Strange's ears, but he could make out the word "salad". 

"Just violence soup for me," He said.

Raw silence. Tony stared at him blankly. The waiter, despite not having eyes, looked displeased with his answer. Was it something he said?

"He...He means vegetable soup," Tony told the waiter. "And water for both of us."

Nodding, the waiter seemingly teleported away from their table. Strange glared at Tony, prepared to tell him he didn't have to order for him, when he blinked. 

In the split-second his eyes were closed, Tony was now eating...something. It looked like a salad, but instead of lettuce and tomatoes, it consisted of dying flowers and beheaded Venus flytraps. 

The soup wasn't much better. When he looked down, the galaxy seemed to be contained in his small bowl. Constellations were spelled out in chopped carrots, while the rich violet sky stirred beneath his spoon (or fork, or spork, he couldn't tell at the moment). 

"So," Tony began, poking at his carnation colored leaves. "You're sick. Tell me about that." 

Strange dipped some liquid space into his spoon as he looked up at him. He arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore his reoccurring headache. 

"I'm not sick," he stated bluntly. He blowed on his spoon, unaware that he was blowing most of the liquid back into the bowl. "I...I just had an off day at work."

"At work, huh? How many demons did you slay today?"

"Twelveteen. And a half." He replied without skipping a beat. 

Tony halted from his salad and glanced at him. "And a half?"

"I got--got impaled or something...before...finish him off," his words began to slur tiredly. "Let--guard down--he escaped."

"You were IMPALED?!"

"I cauterized the wound before I could...could bleed out. Christine can fix it up later." He shrugged, struggling to stay awake. "I'm fine." 

"....I don't think that's very healthy."

He rolled his eyes and pointed accusingly at Tony. 

"Oh, and the 20 gallons of coffee you consume each day is?"

"That's not the point." Tony remarked. "The point is you almost became a shish-kabob tonight while probably hacking up some leftover monster blood, and now you're harboring some wizard cold while drinking some cold soup." 

Strange didn't know to respond. Maybe it was the piercing migraine or the way the world had begun to spin throughout his vision, but he wasn't able to conjure up a single response. All he could do was strike low. 

"...I definitely didn't miss you." He muttered, trying to look aloof. 

Toy smirked, seeing through his facade. "That's another lie. You love me." 

"...Yeah, fine. I'll admit it, I kissed you--I mean missed you. Just a little bit. But that doesn't mean you're right."

"We'll see who's right when you're lying brain dead in the middle of the street."

Without so much as a smirk, Strange continued to eat in silence until his entire mind blanked out. 

He blinked. That was literally all he did, he blinked. And yet suddenly, in the multi-second that his eyes were closed, he had somehow transferred back to the front of the diner. Tony stepped out of the doorframe, holding onto his arm as he took the midnight in. 

"We should do this more often." Tony said. "You know, when you're not sick." 

"I'm not sick," Strange asserted once again, though it came out as more of a mumble this time around. "But...yeah. You think last week is okay?"

Tony blinked, confused for a moment. "N-No...I'm pretty sure we weren't free last week."

"How about sometime in July?" He suggested, his mind cluttered at the moment. 

"Wh-It's September..." 

Grimacing, Tony realized what was going on. He immediately placed the back of his hand firmly on Strange's forehead. 

"What are you doing?" Strange sighed as Tony pulled away. 

"Yep, that's a fever." He stated conclusively, knowing his assertions were correct. "You should probably lie down soon." 

"It's not a fever. It's just warm out, simple as that." He assured, shrugging. 

"It was raining not too long ago." 

"So? Humidity spreads quickly these days, I hear."

Tony huffed, shaking his head at his sudden arrogance. "Listen, just let me take you to my place--"

"I can fly back to the Sanctum by myself, Tony." He tried to assure him. He just needed to get to sleep and he would be fine. He didn't need to crash at his place or anything.

Before he could fly away, however, he felt something grasp into his palm. 

"I'm pretty sure Wong doesn't want you coughing all over the library." 

Strange turned around, briskly pulling away from his grip, and scowled. He was way too tired to be dealing with this. 

"I appreciate your concern, Tony, but I must assure you that I'm fine."

And with that, Strange spun onto his heel to walk into the other direction. He refused to look back and he trudged through the street. He just needed to get back to the Sanctum and recharge for the night -- he'd be better in the morning. 

"Strange...Strange --Strange!" 

The world seemed to mute itself as he tried to set forth into motion. Everyone's outlines grew frigid and transparent as the corners of his eyes grew darker. His body was tired, practically begging for rest, but he persisted anyways. He couldn't hear anything, what he could see was limited, and all he could feel was the consistent pounding of his head. 

Half of him was trying to stand its ground. In all truth, he did want to sleep, and he did want to rest. But the other half of him continued to pull him away from his closest source of comfort. The other half of him continued to walk, continued to ignore the scenery around him, and continued to try and make his way towards the Sanctum.

He was the Sorcerer Supreme, dammit! He needed to continue fighting, he needed to be persistent, he needed to be-- 

"STEPHEN!" 

It took Tony's hand swiftly grasping his shoulder for the world to return to him. An ear-shattering honk blasted his ears as he was greeted with a close-up look at someone's ruby red sports car. He stepped back, almost collapsing into Tony as he grabbed his chest. His heart rate went from hardly existent to rapidly pumping blood in a millisecond. 

Everything about him is shaking. His hands, his head, his chest...he's even more of a mess now. He turns his gaze to Tony, whose expression has a distinct mix of shock, relief, and satisfaction. Strange tries to defend himself, but his throat can't muster any words. He covered his eyes under his hand before he could watch Tony shake his head. 

"I told you so," he stated bluntly. "Now c'mon, let me take you back to my place before you collapse in the middle of the street. It's almost 2 am." 

Strange felt firm hands being placed on his shoulders to lead him out of the crowded plaza. He's unable to argue at this point: he's practically numb in a combination of fatigue, shock, and a fever. So, he's left to succumb to his fate. Part of him knew that arguing was futile, that he should just give up and spend the night on Tony's couch. But another part of him, the part that was slowly melting away from his brain, wanted to persist. 

Half of his brain was clinging onto his usual stubbornness. It pleaded for release, to be allowed to fly away from the restricting ground into the heavenly night. It swished Strange's sight, played tricks on his mind, until its owner would finally give in to its pleas. 

But this time, Strange decided to resist. This time, he wouldn't give in to whatever freakish dreamscape his mind demanded. 

He couldn't focus on Tony leading him at this point -- the Earth tipped on its axis as the shadows of his eyes grew darker. It was time, he thought. His body was finally giving out. 

"Tony, I'm fine..." Half of him groggily tried to assert himself one last time before finally slipping off his feet, towards the ground. The other half of him prepared to finally drift off into slumber. 

"Ah, shit," Tony muttered, simple exasperation laced in his words. He went to catch Strange, but Strange's eyes were shut by the time he lifted him back up. 

"Geez, Stephen," he heard Tony mumble faintly. "When will you learn to give it a rest?" 

Upon passing out, Strange was introduced to a sudden eruption of colliding, tumbling thoughts. It's cataclysmic, if only for a moment. But as Strange fully left the world and into unconsciousness, he was left with a clear, singular, momentary thought drifting through his empty mind.

He loved Tony. He really did. 

\---

When Strange woke up the next morning, it took him several moments for him to take in his surroundings. His mind isn't as cluttered, but his memory is hazy. All he can remember is a series of unrelated images that continuously float around in his head. 

The first thing he realized was that he was on a couch. It was a simply styled couch, with a coffee table in front of it any everything, but tit was a recognizable design. That narrowed down where he was pretty easily: he crashed at Stark's place. Well, "crash" meaning he was dragged there by the man himself after he was declared to be sick. He seemed to be wearing the same clothes from last night, so nothing must've happened after he fainted. He didn't feel nauseous, so it wasn't a virus or anything, but it felt like if all of his limbs had mouths, they would all be screaming right now. 

"So," A hushed voice slithered into the room, accompanied by Tony suddenly appearing in the living room doorway, holding a glass of water. If he hadn't known better, Strange would've figured he materialized out of thin air. "You're sick. Tell me about that."

Without taking any time to let his boyfriend take in the sentence, Tony made his way to the couch. He placed the glass down on the table and kneeled down to talk with him one-on-one. Strange watched him, looked him in the eyes without a word, and simply couldn't muster any words to continue the conversation. He stuttered for a second, still aware of how tired his...everything felt. 

"No comment, eh?" Tony said after a wavering second of pure silence. Without so much as a nod, Strange shakily sat up, prompting Tony to quickly sit down next to him before he could fall back onto the cushions. Still fatigued, his body slumped into Tony's, the side of his head colliding into his spiky hair.

There they were for a few solemn moments, on Tony's small couch in his small living room, trying to make sense of what went on the other night. Strange felt Tony briefly entangle their fingers together, before pulling them apart to feel his forehead. 

"That's good, your fever lowered at least," he muttered out loud, still managing to support Strange. "Still tired? Not surprising; turns out when you spend 2 weeks fighting inter-dimensional space demons you get pretty tuckered out."

A subtle scowl strung across Strange's face. He still said nothing, and he didn't move from where he was lazily slumped over, but apparently Tony noticed how he was looking at him and just rolled his eyes. 

"I get it, I get it, you don't need me mothering out. But you shouldn't be allowed to call me out on living on caffeine when you end up pulling this shit with me," he remarked. "Now sit back and let me give you your diagnosis."

A diagnosis was unnecessary, Strange thought, as he would probably be leaving in about 10 minutes. But nevertheless, possibly to amuse him or whatever, he took a backseat from Tony's shoulder into the couch as he listened to him ramble. 

"Well, I'll start with the good news: you're not dead. For the most part. I ran some tests when you were drooling on my couch. It isn't even a fatal space disease or anything, it's pretty much just a head cold."

"Fantastic," Strange snarked, rolling his eyes. 

Without acknowledging his remark, Tony continued. "However, the bad news is you have a pretty severe case of stab-itis around..." He motioned to Strange's abdomen, still patched up from the night before. "...here."

"Is that why you wanted to bring me to your high-tech apartment? To fix a silly wound?"

"No off-topic questions, dummy. Basically, I found some weird-ass alien blood infused in your veins and, well, I kinda experimented on it...you're gonna be fine. It just caused some side-effects, you know?" 

Strange never thought weird alien blood could cause a drug trip. Huh. You learned something new everyday. 

Silence. Pure, awkward silence. Ahh, how he missed thee. 

"Hey." Tony sat back and nestled his head between Strange's shoulder and neck softly. "I missed you. I really mean that. I just don't like it when you show up at some no-name diner in the middle of the night sick and depressed."

"It's a work issue--"

"Yes, I know!" He shot up from the couch in frustration. "Don't have to tell me again. I have my own work issues, and you don't see me nearly killing myself every other week."

"You do that on a daily basis."

"No, Iron Man does that on a daily basis. I'm Tony Stark -- philanthropist, billionaire--"

"--Playboy, genius." Strange finished off his sentence, droning on about his remaining professions. "...am I forgetting anything?"

There was a moment of quiet until Tony smirked. 

"Your boyfriend." 

And that seemed to shut Strange up. Being at a loss for words, he just sighed and sunk back into the couch tiredly. He hated to admit it, but he really, truly felt horrible. Tony looked at him, almost pitying his current state, then sat back down next to him, tightly gripping his hand. 

"Stay here. I haven't seen you in 2 weeks, we should catch up. Listen, I'll take care of you, I'll get you soup, or books, or whatever will make you satisfied with getting some rest. You can afford to take a day off, can't you?"

"I--"

"And before you ask, I already called Wong and let him know you're here. He sighed--loudly--but nevertheless he let me keep you here. Guess he'd rather let you vomit on my couch than in his library." 

Strange huffed, annoyed that he'd already taken the measures necessary to keep him there. It was a bit overbearing...but he wasn't entirely complaining right now. He let his hand grip onto his skin, trying to take in all the warmth it could get. 

"Fine. I'll stay," His gave in, embracing his lover's comfort. "But just for a few minutes. Now, let go of my hand so I can get ready." 

Tony didn't oblige. 

"Mmm, I kinda just wanna sit here with your fingernails digging into my arm for a few more minutes. Or hours." He replied, continuing to hold his hand. It looked like he wanted him to stay one way or another. "C'mon. I can put on Enchanted and Billy Joel. You can sit on my couch all day and do whatever you want. I'll let you choose what we eat for dinner. I'll even drink that frigging leaf tea you like so much."

"You know they make it in different favors, right?"

"Yeah, but today's a you day. I wanna do whatever you want, Mr. 'I Work 24/7 And Collapse In My Boyfriend's Arms When I Meet Him For The First Time In Two Weeks'."

"...That's Doctor 'I Work 24/7 And Collapse--'" 

"Shut up, Merlin." 

Strange smiled softly, closing his eyes. He missed this. He missed the nicknames, he missed the banter, he missed everything. 

"Let's just stay here. Like this." He spoke quietly, finally giving in. Wordlessly, Tony nodded. 

And he just holds him. He holds him for as long as he can. And it's like that for what seems like an entire year. Just to make up all the time they lost from those two long, arduous weeks. 

The silence was broken by Tony's voice. 

"I've been meaning to ask you...what's violence soup? Is it, like, soup that just wants to punch you in the face?"

Strange rolled his eyes, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him. 

"You're pushing it, Tony."

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what y'all I got, like, a million more fics coming. Most of them are just like this cause I like murdering my faves lol.
> 
> Also I'm working on a...big project right now. So be ready if you see something long on this page at some point. You know, if I ever get around to finishing it hah


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